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With the meal over, cleanup begins. Without a sink to rinse out bowls and containers, your companions use a sparse amount of bottled water to clean them or simply wipe them out with paper towels.

Reilly steps before the fire, puts his fingers in his mouth, and blasts a loud whistle. "All right, everyone get your asses over here. I got something special for dessert."

The survivors stop their cleanup and congregate near the campfire, surprised expressions on their tired faces. Nora is last to make it, and the group makes a path for her to reach the front of the fire closest to Reilly. After she stops near the roaring flames, the rest of the survivors form a semi-circle around the bonfire.

Reilly raises his hands, and the group quiets.

"I appreciate you all coming over here," he says. He pauses and looks at his mother, tears forming in his eyes, which he quickly wipes away. "Look, I'm no talker. My mother means the world to me. Yesterday was Mother's Day, and this lady has always been the best Ma a punk like me could ask for. Happy Mother's Day, Ma. Love ya."

"Aww, come here, you hot dog," Nora says and opens her arms for her son. He hugs her, and she strokes his hair and plants a kiss on his cheek.

The group watches on as the mother and son embrace, all in silence with only the sides of the mountain wind and crackling fire to be heard. You can see their thoughts on their faces as if you were reading road signs: the longing, the sadness, the loss.

"Happy Mother's Day, Mom, wherever you are," Brody says. He takes Madison's hand, and she lays her head on his shoulder.

Parker stands. "Happy Mother's Day, Jiu. And to Daniel—I love you, Dad."

"Happy Mother's Day, Mom," Jaime says next. "I know you're out there—probably saving other people."

"I'd like to send my love to the best parents in the world," Nathan says. "Their names are Claire and Mustafa."

Kelly takes a step forward and raises a plastic cup. "To my mother. She died two years ago, the day before New Year's Eve. She was strong yet comforting, honest but cunning, hard-working but fun-spirited. To all single mothers out there, and all those surviving on their own, not just through an outbreak but through every sickness, every day rent's due, every time a meal is placed on the table, every trip to the Chapel Hills Mall for school supplies, every prom dress, every…" Her voice fades, and she drinks from her cup.

"My mother wasn't a God-fearin' woman, believe it or not," Church says as he stands up, a wide-brimmed Panama hat in his hand. "But she raised me right, worked two jobs to put me through divinity school, and died of a heart attack still workin' at ninety-one. Happy Mother's Day to you." He points to the sky.